


bright

by delgay



Series: fem ian/mickey 'verse [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Christmas, F/F, Fluff, Rule 63, Super Gayness, post-s5, very mild angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 10:16:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2847416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delgay/pseuds/delgay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I can't fucking believe you're making me do this," Mickey curses as she climbs the ladder. It's 20 degrees, and she's freezing her goddamn tits off, just to make the too-tall redhead she calls a girlfriend happy.</p><p>"I didn't make you," Ian points out, and Mickey can hear her teeth chattering through it. "I asked-- very nicely, I might add-- if we could put a reindeer on the roof."</p><p>"On <i>my</i> roof," Mickey emphasizes just before she hauls herself up onto it. "I swear, you're ruining my reputation in this neighborhood."</p>
            </blockquote>





	bright

**Author's Note:**

> [merrymilkomas](http://merrymilkomas.tumblr.com/) on tumblr prompted fem ian/mickey, ian making mickey go get a tree with her, mickey taking over decorating because ian can't hang anything straight, and kissing under the mistletoe. so i just took that ran with it big time. (although i failed with kissing under the mistletoe, there is plenty of kissing! promise!)
> 
> P.S. though this is set post season 5, there are no season 5 spoilers :)

"Please tell me this is the last box," Mickey groans, dropping a worn cardboard box none to gently in the corner of the Gallaghers' living room.

There's rustling from the basement, followed by a triumphant "aha!" which can certainly mean nothing good. "Got one more, Mick! I finally found the reindeer for the roof!"

Mickey's eyes roll to the ceiling, and she sighs, quiet enough so Ian won't hear. She's been up to her elbows in heavy cardboard boxes for the better half of the morning, sorting out the junk from the crap and pulling out anything red, green, or covered in tinsel. Ian had woken up that morning passionately committed to going all out for Christmas this year, and Mickey had, of course, been dragged along for the ride. 

"Coming," Mickey calls half-heartedly, trudging back down into the Gallaghers' basement. She mentally curses the rest of the Gallaghers’ for being conveniently absent for this endeavor when they’re nearly impossible to get rid of the rest of the time.

The scent of meth hits Mickey instantly when she reaches the basement, reminding her so much of the frequent smell of her own home that it makes her wince. She's sure she reeks of it already, but she guesses that's nothing new. 

When Mickey arrives at the bottom of the staircase, she sees Ian grinning widely with a hideous plastic reindeer tucked securely under her arm. "I totally forgot we had these," Ian tells Mickey. "Carl stole them from a couple houses on the North Side years ago, but Fiona wouldn't let us put them up. Said she wasn't going to encourage his descent into the juvenile delinquency or broken limbs." She smiles again a bit wryly, like she does when she's trying to get her way. "Help me bring up the third one? Last thing, I promise."

As if not helping was ever on Mickey's mind. "Yeah, yeah," Mickey mutters, leaning down to scoop up a reindeer that seems to be made entirely of white Christmas lights run along some kind of frame. Ian grabs another plastic reindeer near her feet that looks similar to the one she already has under her arm, except the face and colors are a little different. 

"What would I ever do without you," Ian waxes. Her tone is teasing, but Mickey knows Ian well enough by now to be able to read the truth in it. 

"Spend ten years trying to get all these fuckin' decorations upstairs. Christ," Mickey retorts. 

They reach the living room and deposit the reindeer on the floor near the boxes. "Aren't we not supposed to take his name in vain, or something? It’s only like week until his birthday," Ian comments, brushing bits of red hair away from her face. Her cheeks are flushed prettily, and Mickey’s eyes can’t help but linger on them for a few moments before answering.

"I don't know, you're supposed to know more about this shit than I do. Catholic and all that," Mickey retorts. 

Ian raises her eyebrows. "I haven't been to mass since I was like six. I hardly think I count as a Catholic."

Mickey shrugs; she doesn't really give a shit either way. All she knows is there was something about the baby and a donkey and Mary had to push Jesus out in a barn or something. "So where is all of this stuff going?" she questions, leaning against the back of the couch and looking at the boxes disdainfully. How the Gallaghers managed to accumulate so much Christmas crap over the years, Mickey has no idea. She thinks there might be a shitty wreath stashed somewhere in her house, maybe some mistletoe, but nothing near this caliber. The Milkovich family isn't exactly the warm, touchy-feely holiday type. 

Ian's hands move around her in a sweeping motion. "Here, obviously. And I bet we'll even have enough to take home."

Mickey was halfway to preparing to tell Ian to go fuck herself, but, _home_. That word makes Mickey fold like wet cardboard, soppy and weak. "Fuck, all right," Mickey mumbles, rubbing at one of her eyebrows with her thumb. "Lucky I like your ginger ass."

When Ian steps into Mickey's space to kiss her soundly, Mickey already knows that all of this bullshit will be worth it. 

 

 

It takes Mickey exactly twenty minutes to realize that Ian is _bad_ at this. Mickey loves Ian, really fucking does, in the kill-for-you-without-even-thinking kind of way, but the girl's decorating is abysmal. She's got handmade angels and cotton ball Santas practically on top of one another, tinsel hanging from the ceiling, and none of the lights (whose strands have more than a few bulbs out, but Mickey can forgive her that) Ian's hung are remotely straight. When Mickey looks up from where she's carefully assembling a slightly creepy nativity scene on the mantle to see Ian teetering on a chair, preparing to staple some tinsel right above where she already (badly) hung a strand of lights in the entryway to the kitchen, Mickey is forced to intervene. 

"Yo, Ian," Mickey calls out, causing Ian to jump and almost fall off the chair. She might have, if Mickey's hands hadn't been there to hold her steady. "Watch yourself, clumsy," Mickey says as she secures her hands around Ian's waist. 

"I was concentrating," Ian retorts a bit impatiently. "What is it, Mickey? We're not even close to being done."

Mickey takes her hands off Ian. "Clearly," she mutters under her breath. She speaks up, then, so Ian can hear her clearly. "Don't you already got lights up there? You should probably spread out the sparkly shit instead of lumping it in one place."

Looking down at Mickey, Ian raises her eyebrows. "Really now," she drawls, a little put out, but sounding mostly amused. 

"Not that I give a shit," Mickey says quickly, "I don't. I'm just saying. Might wanna save some for the kitchen, or something."

Ian blinks slowly for a moment, then hops off the chair. "Yeah, all right," she allows, dragging the chair and red tinsel with her with a light smile on her face.

Mickey shakes her head to herself and watches her go before turning back to the living room to begin straightening out Ian's decorating. 

 

 

"I can't fucking believe you're making me do this," Mickey curses as she climbs the ladder. It's 20 degrees, and she's freezing her goddamn tits off, just to make the too-tall redhead she calls a girlfriend happy.

"I didn't make you," Ian points out, and Mickey can hear her teeth chattering through it. "I asked-- very nicely, I might add-- if we could put a reindeer on the roof."

"On _my_ roof," Mickey emphasizes just before she hauls herself up onto it. "I swear, you're ruining my reputation in this neighborhood."

Ian's right behind Mickey, all that ROTC training she's got under her belt aiding her in crouching easily on the roof beside Mickey. She scoffs. "Whatever. You were the one who told me I couldn't put this one on _my_ roof because it 'doesn't _match, Ian, Jesus Christ, anyone with eyes can see that_.'"

"It doesn't!" Mickey insists, feeling her cheeks heating up despite the wind whipping around them. This reindeer made up of Christmas lights in no way fit in with the other two plastic, cartoonish reindeer they put on Ian’s roof. "Fuck, let's just get this over with. You owe me so bad for this, and for the other two we already got up on your roof."

Ian hands Mickey the reindeer. "Think so, huh?" she goads.

Mickey takes the reindeer more forcefully than necessary. "Fuckin' know so," she retorts, "Better eat me out for days after this."

Ian laughs but doesn't comment. "Make sure you wrap it tighter than that," she points out as Mickey begins to wrap a piece of wire around the flat piece that separates the slants in the roof. 

"Can it, back seat decorator. I got this." Mickey wraps the wire a few more times, then pushes the reindeer a bit to see if it's secure. It hardly budges. "See?"

Ian rolls her eyes before making her way slowly to where the ladder is perched against the house, descending carefully with extension cord in hand while Mickey watches. "You coming or what?" Ian questions when she's almost to the bottom. 

"Yeah, yeah, 'm comin'," Mickey grumbles, as she begins to make her way down. She's not exactly a huge fan of heights, and going down is hell of a lot scarier than going up. On shaky legs, she finally makes it to the ground where Ian is waiting, already having plugged in the extension cord that's connected to the reindeer.

Ian wraps her arms around Mickey's waist, pulling her in to grab her ass. "You've been a good sport, all things considered," Ian states.

"Damn right," Mickey agrees.

A lazy smile makes its way across Ian's face as she releases Mickey. "Let's go see how it looks," she urges, and Mickey follows her, just like she always does. 

They stand in the street facing the Milkovich house, staring at the lone reindeer that's lit up on the right side of the Milkovich house. It looks a bit lonely, and the fact that it's daytime kind of takes away from the magic, but Mickey can't deny that it looks all right. And perfectly fucking straight, thank you very much.

"Told you I had this," Mickey points out, leaning into Ian's side.

Ian wraps an arm around Mickey's shoulders and squeezes. "Looks great, hon. Now we get to utilize your superior decorating skills for the interior of the house!"

Mickey groans but lets Ian tug her inside anyways. 

 

 

Decorating the Milkovich house doesn't change much. It doesn't miraculously make the house brighter or erase any of the terrible memories Mickey has of it. But it does make Mickey reconsider the space, just a bit. Her and Ian clean a bit in a process, and it starts to seem more like a tolerable place to live than a garbage dump. 

"It looks good," Ian observes, looking at Mickey with a smile. 

Mickey shrugs a shoulder, and Mandy looks up from the magazine she's been absorbed in since they came in. "It's beautiful," she chimes in. She's trying hard to be supportive, Mickey can tell; Mandy, like Mickey, has never been a huge fan of Christmas. It's kind of hard to be when the only presents they ever really got were a drunk dad and a few high uncles stumbling in and out while they were forced to keep themselves as scarce as possible. 

"Not like you fuckin' helped," Mickey grumbles as she straightens a hand-cut snowflake Ian insisted Mickey make to stick in the front window. 

Mandy gives Mickey the finger. "I delegated. And stopped Ian from hanging that crochet angel from the ceiling, which was going to be terrifying."

Mickey shrugs. Mandy does have a point.

"Hey," Ian protests, hand on her hip, "Debbie made that. With love."

Mandy gives Ian a discerning look. "I don't think love is the right word, babe."

Ian sighs a little. “So maybe it was Lucifer, whatever. It’s the thought that counts.”

“That’s right,” Mandy agrees, pulling Ian down on the couch with her to sprawl on her lap. “Ya did good.”

Beaming, Ian throws an arm around Mandy’s shoulders and holds her close. “I knew you’d come around,” she says.

Mickey scoffs at the display of affection. “Break it up, love birds. Me and Ian got shit to do.”

Mandy rolls her eyes, and Ian raises her eyebrows as if to say _really?_ Mickey raises hers right back. She's just about to drag Ian away to their room when the door slams open, making Mickey jump as her head snaps towards the door.

It's only Sven, slinking in and reeking of the cigars that are frequently smoked upstairs at the Alibi. They’ve been running a gambling operation up there for close to a year now, using Sven’s skill with cards and Mickey’s talent with counting them to swindle drunks out of their paychecks. You know what they say: the house always wins.

Being around him doesn't make Mickey want to scream anymore. It's mostly just discomfort, now, and a bit of the empty feeling that follows nausea. Working with him on a near daily basis has desensitized Mickey to him, for the most part. They’re able to banter back and forth and snipe at each other now without hard feelings. She’d would never go as far to call them friends, but they are business partners, which counts for something in Mickey’s eyes. 

But as soon as Sven steps in the room, he frowns, looking around with a grimace that makes Mickey want to take back any amiable thoughts she ever had about him. "Looks like Santa came all over the place," he observes shortly before disappearing into the hallway, presumably to go into the room that was Jamie's once upon a time. 

“Asshole,” Mandy hisses.

Ian’s jaw is clenched tight. Mickey doesn’t know why, but Ian is taking this decorating shit incredibly serious. “Whatever.” She stands, pushes her hair out of her face. “I’m gonna head home.”

Mickey droops a little. “You sure?”

“Yeah, I wanna see if I can get the kids to make some paper snowflakes,” Ian states, giving Mickey a small smile. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Mickey doesn’t want Ian to go-- doesn’t ever want her to, really-- but doesn’t try to get her to stay. Time for the Gallaghers to pull their weight in this Christmas decorating stuff. “Yeah, okay,” Mickey says, leaning in for a kiss.

It’s Mandy’s loud, exaggerated gagging from the couch the draws them apart, Ian with an amused smile and Mickey flicking Mandy off over Ian’s shoulder.

“See ya, Mands,” Ian calls over her shoulder after she pulls away from Mickey. She grabs her coat from where it’s hanging by the door and shrugs it on, smiling at Mickey before she heads out the door.

“You guys are gross,” Mandy observes.

Mickey rolls her eyes. “Scoot over, asshole,” she prompts before picking up Mandy’s legs and moving them so there’s room for her to sit on the couch as well. 

Mickey’s gone through most of the channels, refusing to choose anything Christmas related, when Mandy speaks up. “I’ve never seen Ian go this Martha Stewart before.”

“No?” Mickey gives up on channel surfing and settles on Family Feud, which seems to be the only remotely attractive option at the moment.

Mandy shifts on the couch. “Nah, I don’t even remember them having a Christmas tree or anything. They had little handmade decorations but nothing like--” She waves her hand around the room at all the lights and tinsel.

“Hmm,” Mickey hums, rubbing her mouth. “Should we be worried?”

A small sigh leaves Mandy’s lips. “I don’t know. She doesn’t seem…” Mandy trails off, but Mickey fills in the blank easily. _Manic_.

Mickey thinks of how Ian was today, alternating between easy laughs and intense focus but she never seemed jerky or too energetic. She was steady. “I don’t think she is,” Mickey replies. “I think she’s just serious about Christmas for reason.”

“Hope so,” Mandy murmurs, leaning forward to grab the pack of smokes from the coffee table. She shakes one out for Mickey before plucking out her own, lighting it up and inhaling deeply before passing Mickey the lighter.

“Me too,” Mickey replies, flicking the lighter and taking a long inhale of her cigarette.

 

 

Thankfully, there's a cease-fire in the Christmas decorating, at least for a couple of days. Mickey is just getting home from dealing cards all day to assholes who paid more attention to her tits than their cards when her phone starts buzzing in her pocket.

Mickey slides it out and sees Ian’s grinning face on the screen. "Yeah?" Mickey answers.

"Hey. You got the car?" Ian asks.

"It's out front, why?"

"I found the _perfect_ tree."

Sighing lightly, Mickey replies, “I thought I told you there’s nowhere to fit a tree in my house.” Ian had been mumbling about Christmas trees last night before they went to sleep, and Mickey had informed Ian that there was nowhere in the Milkovich house to shove a Christmas tree, so, “Please, Ian, don’t get any ideas. I’m not being a Grinch! There’s seriously just no room.” 

“Yes, yes,” Ian replies, sounding distracted. “It’s not for your house, I promise.”

Mickey rubs a hand over her face. “What do you need me to do?”

“Pick me up, tie the Christmas tree to the roof of the car, help me lug it in the house. Maybe help me string lights on it. No big deal.”

Mickey makes a disapproving noise.

“Pleease? I promise I'll make it worth your while,” Ian insists.

Like not helping Ian was ever really an option. “All right, I’m on my way,” Mickey tells her.

 

 

When Mickey gets to the lot Ian told her to pick her up at, just a few blocks away from the Gallaghers’, she finds Ian bundled up in her coat and a big scarf, staring critically at a shabby Christmas tree. When Ian sees Mickey, she perks up. “What do you think?” she questions.

“It’s…” Mickey trails off. Ian looks dangerously close to giving Mickey the chin, so she changes her trajectory. “It’s great,” she amends, looking at the Christmas tree in front of them. It’s not all that tall, really; it’s barely over Ian’s head, and has a bunch of bald patches that won’t easily be covered up.

Ian glances back at the tree. “So maybe I exaggerated a little on the phone. But this is the best of the cheapest trees, trust me.”

Mickey bites her lip. Mickey knows Ian’s not making much these days; she works at the diner with Mandy and too often comes home smelling like waffles and grease with a wad of shitty tips in her hands. With Ian’s medical bills, things have been tight for awhile now. “I’ll chip in; we’ll get something better.”

“Mickey,” Ian says, “You really don’t have to. This is good enough.”

Yeah, well, Ian deserves better. “I want to, all right? Come on,” Mickey urges, tugging on Ian’s coat, “Let’s go see what else they got.”

The grin Ian rewards Mickey with is priceless.

 

 

“Mickey, if you don’t hold up your end, this isn’t going to work!”

Grunting loudly, Mickey retorts, “Fuck off, okay, no one told me trees were this fucking heavy.” Her arms are aching, itching, and probably covered in all this sticky crap Mickey got on herself when they first strapped the tree to the roof of her car.

Ian grunts as they continue their trek to the Gallaghers’ front door. “Lift with your knees!”

“I am lifting with my knees!” Mickey argues, bending at the knees quickly so she can get a better grip on the thing. 

“I’m about to start going up the stairs,” Ian warns Mickey.

Mickey feels Ian’s first step immediately, because the weight of the tree immediately feels heavier. It doesn’t help that it’s only 6pm but the sun is already down, and she can’t see over the fucking tree as it is. She’s just gotta trust that Ian’s gonna lead them up steady. “Fuck, let’s just get this over with,” she mutters, bearing the weight of the trees as they climb the stairs.

They finally get it up, only to find that getting it through the front door is going to be a challenge. After a brief shouting match, they finally manage to maneuver the tree through the door and around that stupid corner that leads to the living room.

“Who would have thought one tree would be such a pain in the ass,” Ian mutters, kneeling under the tree to tighten one of the metal spokes in the stand they got so the tree doesn’t die of thirst.

Mickey looks at the tree with disgust, now standing proudly in the corner of the Gallaghers’ living room like it didn’t just give them hell. “Now we gotta put lights on this fucker?”

Ian stands, then, brushing some pine needles off her knees. “Nah, you’re off the hook.”

Mickey instantly feels invigorated. “Really?” she hedges as Ian steps into her space.

“Mhm.” One of Ian’s arms snakes around Mickey’s waist, pulling her in close. “You’ve more than pulled your weight today. Literally,” Ian grins.

“That tree can kiss my fuckin’ ass,” Mickey states. “I support your quest for Christmas and all that, but I fucking hate that tree.”

Ian huffs out a quiet laugh before leaning in to press her lips to Mickey’s. “Noted,” she murmurs against Mickey’s mouth before kissing her again, both arms now wrapped tightly around Mickey.

Mickey twines her arms around Ian’s neck, pulling Ian in closer to get more of her. “You up for it?” she asks; just because she’s gearing to go with aching arms and sap sticking to her skin, doesn’t mean Ian is too.

When Ian pulls away, the corner of her mouth is pulled up and she’s got that wicked look in her eye that Mickey lives for. “Said I’d make it worth your while, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Mickey confirms, gaze flicking down from Ian’s eyes to her plump mouth. “No one home?”

“Not for a couple hours, at least,” Ian informs Mickey, grabbing her hand and tugging her in the direction of the stairs.

Mickey can’t follow her fast enough.

 

 

"Fuck," Ian mutters after, lifting her wrist in front of her face and fiddling with the band of her watch. 

"Again? Jeez, you gotta give me some time to recover here," Mickey drawls from beside Ian, smile playing at her lips.

Ian rolls her eyes fondly. "Shut up. No, the band of my watch looks like it's about to snap."

"Shit. Haven't you had that thing forever?"

"Yeah," Ian answers, a little sadly. "Stole it from Lip when I was like 13."

Mickey runs a hand over the top of Ian's head, brushing her hair away from disappointed green eyes. Mickey knows how sentimental Ian is, especially about things she's held on to for a long time. "Got some duck tape at home if you need it," Mickey offers. 

Ian burrows her face into Mickey's neck. "Might just take you up on that," she mutters. They're quiet for a few moments; Ian begins running her fingers gently through Mickey’s short hair, and Mickey’s entertaining the idea of a nap when--

"So, for Christmas."

Mickey sighs. "What about it?"

"Wanna come here? You and Mandy and Iggy, Colin if he's around. Maybe Sven?" Ian suggests. “We can do a big Christmas lunch with Kev and Vee, then just hang out and drink the whole day.”

Mickey frowns. Her and Mandy, sure, but Mickey can't imagine why Ian would want to throw her knucklehead brothers into the mix, let alone her damn husband. "That sounds like a disaster just begging to happen," Mickey mutters.

"C'mon," Ian whines, "At least ask?"

"Since when are you so dead set on all this family crap, huh?" Mickey questions.

“I just--” Ian cuts herself off, eyebrows furrowing before she sighs in frustration and rolls onto her back, away from Mickey. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Mickey replies immediately, because nothing that bothers Ian is stupid. Nothing Ian _says_ is stupid, period. But Mickey knows that Ian has issues admitting what she’s going through or asking for help, so she makes a point to ask Ian what’s going on. “Something’s obviously up,” she points out.

Ian shuts her eyes tight for a moment before saying, “Last year, that’s when I… when I left.” 

Mickey keeps her expression steady. She knows. She wishes she could ever forget those months without Ian, not knowing if she was alive or dead, waking up in the dead of the night drenched in a cold sweat from fresh nightmares. But this isn’t a fairytale; their story never was.

“I missed so much,” Ian continues, “Even when I got back, I was so fucking out of it, and--” She cuts herself off, pausing to swallow and take a breath. “I know me trying to throw the best Christmas ever isn’t going to make up for missing last year or for not being there for the stuff with Liam happened or for just being so fucked up, but--”

“Hey,” Mickey soothes, running her hand down Ian’s arm as Ian fights back tears. Ian’s been through fucking hell this year, but things are finally coming together, and it fucking tears Mickey up to see Ian being so hard on herself. Mickey’s never been the greatest at comfort, but for Ian she tries her hardest. She just holds Ian for a long moment while she figures out what to say. 

“You’re the most loved person I’ve ever met,” Mickey settles on. When Ian gives Mickey an unconvinced look, she continues, “Seriously, everyone who meets you loves your ass. Your family fucking adores you. Debbie, Carl, and Liam worship the fucking ground you walk on. Mandy still never shuts up about you or all the stuff you guys do when I’m not around; even when my idiot brothers are actually around, they treat you like-- fuck, like you’re family. And you are.” Mickey whispers the last few words. “You’re my family.”

When Mickey meets Ian’s eyes again, they’re all shiny, looking at Mickey like she’s just discovered the cure for cancer or something equally incredible. She feels her face go hot under the intensity of Ian’s gaze.

“Just stating the facts,” Mickey edges, looking away.

“I fucking--” Ian’s half on top of Mickey, then, burying her face in the other girl’s neck. “Fucking love you. So much.”

Mickey’s hands find Ian’s shoulder blades, stroking lightly. She kisses Ian’s temple. “You too.” Christ, Ian’s turned Mickey into such a fucking sap. The worst part is, Mickey loves every second. 

“So your long speech means you’re coming to Christmas, right?”

Mickey barks out a laugh, prompting Ian to laugh warmly against Mickey’s shoulder. “‘Course, Firecrotch. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” She gives Ian’s ass a light smack before jostling the other girl in an attempt to get her up. “Now, c’mon, we need a fuckin’ shower.”

Ian sits up, bottom lip trained between her teeth as she slides out of bed and towards the door, giving Mickey a meaningful look before opening it and disappearing down the hallway bare ass naked.

Mickey licks the corner of her mouth before following her. “Better be ready for round two!” she calls before she reaches the bathroom, and Ian’s loud, warm laughter becomes the only thing that could ever matter.

 

 

Mickey goes home that night without Ian; she’d said she wanted to spend some time with her family and get the damn tree decorated, which might take the rest of the night.

She spends the walk home brainstorming. She and Ian have never exchanged gifts on Christmas; the closest they ever got was Ian visiting Mickey the first time she went to juvie and putting a little extra cash into her commissary account. Mickey doesn’t think that really counts, and she wants to get Ian something good.

"We got anything worth a shit in this house?" Mickey asks when she finds Mandy sitting at the table, still in her work uniform and texting someone on her phone.

Mandy keeps her eyes on her phone and shrugs one shoulder. "Mom's earrings. Dad's guns probably won't get you much, but there’s probably some coke hidden somewhere." 

Mickey makes a thoughtful noise. She'll be damned if she ever pawned Mom's earrings; if she was ever going to give them up, Ian would be the recipient. But Ian isn't a big fan of earrings, really; she used to wear them back when she and Mickey started up, but sometime between whenever Mickey went to juvie the first time and when she came out, Ian seemed to give up on the idea all together. 

"Dad might have some Nazi shit stashed somewhere; could be worth something," Mandy offers, "Probably wouldn't be too happy if you took any of it, though."

Mickey snorts loudly, mind already made up. "Like I give a shit,” she mutters, heading towards Terry’s room.

She tears into her dad’s room, covering her nose immediately because it fucking _reeks_. He hasn’t been here for the better part of a year, and Mickey doesn’t think anyone’s been in here since. She struggles not to gag and begins opening the dresser drawers, rifling through them and searching for anything of value.

Mickey turns up with nothing but clothes and a couple shitty knives at first; she finds some coke stashed underneath a bunch of dirty socks, but it’s not much. Knowing Terry, it’s probably cut with so much shit that it’s essentially worthless. She stuffs it into her pocket anyways to pass off to Iggy.

The drawers are clearly a bust, so Mickey starts going through the rest of the room. Nothing on or in the nightstand and nothing under the bed but a bunch of dirty clothes and food wrappers. 

“Fucking damn it,” Mickey hisses to herself, pounding on a wall covered in a Nazi flag with her fist. Well, she means to, anyways, except her fist appears to go through the wall, pushing the flag into a circular space.

Frowning, Mickey pulls the flag back to reveal a huge hole in the drywall. Normally, she would just brush it off as something stupid Terry did in a drunken rage, but the fact he took the time to cover it up causes Mickey to think it’s more than just the product of a fit.

Mickey shines the light from her phone down into the space. It’s dusty as fuck down there, and she coughs a little as she leans in closer to get a better look. The light catches on something shiny, and Mickey grins to herself. Jackpot.

She reaches her arm in and grabs whatever it is, tugging it out hopefully. It looks like a belt buckle of some kind, gold, in the same shape as the same stupid tattoo Terry has on his back. It feels heavy enough to be solid gold; she figures she can get at least $150 for it.

When Mickey shoves her arm back in, her fingers brush against something long. She pulls it out, muttering, “What the fuck?” when she discovers it’s a giant dagger. She pulls the thing out of its hilt, finding some obnoxious inscription on the blade. Looks old as shit; might as well try to get a few bucks out of that too.

Mickey goes back in, feeling around the crevice but coming up empty. Mickey’s about to give up when her hand bumps against something papery. It’s a texture she recognizes well: a wad of cash.

Wasting no time, Mickey quickly counts the bills. $237 exactly; not much for a rainy day fund, but Mickey’ll take it. She could definitely afford something for Ian easily with that amount of and put Terry’s creepy Nazi memorabilia right where she found it, but...

Fuck it. She’s pawning the shit anyways.

 

 

The next night when Mickey gets home after pawning Terry’s shit (after having to argue with slimy bastard over prices for a half an hour), Ian’s still not home. Mickey’s not _needy_ , all right, but the heat is on the fritz and the bed was fucking cold last night without her space heater sprawled on top of her. She hasn’t seen Ian since the night before, and it feels weird being in the house without her here.

Mickey plops down onto the couch and texts Ian. **Comin home 2nite?**

The reply comes a few minutes later. _Can’t, promised I’d stay here w the kids. See you tomorrow tho??_

Damn. **Ok. Tell the monsters I said hey**

_Will do. Love u_

**Yea yea u 2**

Mickey sighs and shoves her phone in her pocket for the time being.

“Quit moping,” Mandy orders from the kitchen. “You guys can’t be attached at the tit 24/7, you know.”

“M’ not moping. Fuck off,” Mickey grumbles.

“Are so, you pathetic sap.”

If Mandy were closer, Mickey would chuck the remote at her head. “No one asked you, dickface,” she calls.

Mandy doesn’t bother responding, just flicks Mickey off from where she’s stirring a pot or something.

Whatever. It’s fine. Mickey will just grab an extra blanket and sleep curled around Ian’s pillow, which still smells like her. Totally normal. She’s gotta be up early and so she can get to the North Side stores before the Christmas mob starts, anyways.

 

 

Mickey buys the watch totally legit. Seriously, walks into the goddamn hoity-toity place wearing her best coat and a clean pair of jeans and everything. Even keeps her hands at her sides as she's looking until she needs to point out a watch she likes, but she moves her hand so fast that the Ken doll behind the counter doesn't even notice her knuckle tattoos. 

"This one?" Ken doll confirms, and Mickey makes a jerky movement she thinks passes as a nod. Places like this give her the fucking creeps, and just because he hasn't noticed she's South Side trash yet doesn't mean she can let her defenses down. 

The watch is fucking nice; large gold-toned face and band, got a little box that shows the date in it and everything. Mickey gnaws on her lower lip, looks but doesn't touch. "This one has been popular this year," Ken claims, turning it over so Mickey can catch a look at the smooth finish. "The back is perfect for engraving, too."

Mickey makes a considering noise. "How much extra to engrave?" she questions.

"Twenty; our Christmas special," Ken grins. 

Rubbing the back of her neck, Mickey mutters, "A'right, I'll take it. Throw that engraving shit in too."

Ken raises his eyebrows, thrown off, but recovers fairly smoothly. "I'll be right back with the form," he tells her, disappearing into the back room. 

Mickey lets out a long breath and leans against the glass counter, waiting for him to return so she can get the fuck out of here. The place is starting to get busy, but Mickey guesses she should have expected that on Christmas Eve.

When Ken comes back, he slides a piece of paper and a pen across the counter to Mickey. "Fill in your information here," he points to the form, "then write what you want engraved here." He gestures to lower down on the form.

Mickey bites her lip, reluctantly writing her name and phone number on the the top of the slip. She moves lower down, then, to the engraving portion. She debates briefly on putting down a date, maybe a few cheesy words, but Mickey eventually settles on "Ian." Ian hasn't had much in her life that's truly been _hers_. She grew up wearing Fiona and Lip's hand-me-downs and shared a room with two other kids for most of her life. She shared her weapons with Carl, her clothes with Debbie. Ian deserves to have this one thing that's completely hers.

When Mickey passes the form back, she catches Ken lingering on her knuckle tattoos. She’s about to tell him they’re not just talk when he says, "'Ian,' huh? Your boyfriend?"

There was a time where Mickey would have let that comment go, brushed it off and let this joker think whatever the hell he wanted. Hell, she would have preferred it that way. But Mickey didn't go through hell and back to let assholes like him make assumptions about things they don’t know jackshit about.

"Girlfriend, douchebag," Mickey retorts, standing up to her full height and daring him to say anything. 

“I’m sorry-- I didn’t, I just--” Ken babbles.

Mickey purses her lips, gives Ken a quick once-over. “You know what? You throw that engraving in for free, and I won’t tell your boss what an ignorant, homophobic asshole you are. Sound good?”

Ken looks like he’s about to piss himself. “That-- that sounds great. I can have this done for you in just twenty minutes.”

Smiling slowly, Mickey says, “Perfect. I’ll just wait right here.” She leans against the counter, enjoying how unnerved he is.

Mickey laughs once Ken disappears into the back and looks at idly at jewelry while she waits for Ian’s watch to be finished.

 

 

“Hey, honey,” Ian greets comes in home that night, smiling brightly when finds Mickey curled up on the couch. 

Mickey glares a little at the nickname, but murmurs, “Hey,” anyways.

Ian plops down next to Mickey, curling around her easily. “Miss me?”

Mickey makes a grumbling noise, neither affirming nor denying.

“Aw,” Ian murmurs. “Don’t be grumpy. I’m staying here tonight, promise.”

Frowning, Mickey argues, “I’m not grumpy. ‘S fuckin’ cold as balls in here, that’s all.”

Ian smiles. “Well, good thing I’m here to help with that.” She leaves a lingering kiss on Mickey’s cheek, so slow and sweet that it makes Mickey close her eyes.

“Oh yeah?” Mickey questions when Ian pulls away, raising her eyebrows.

“Mhm,” Ian confirms. “I brought stuff to make hot cocoa.”

Mickey grins. “Knew I kept you around for a reason.”

Rolling her eyes, Ian retorts, “Yes, you kept me around all these years because I feed your sugar obsession.”

Mickey pulls Ian in for another kiss. “You know I like ‘em sweet,” she states. “Now make me hot chocolate.”

Ian clicks her tongue, but gets up and heads towards the kitchen anyways. “Always so pushy,” Mickey hears her mutter, and Mickey grins proudly.

 

 

The next morning, they walk to the Gallaghers’ with Mandy, hand in hand. It’s fucking cold out, and they shiver the whole way. Ian’s new watch is burning a hole in the pocket of Mickey’s sweatshirt, but Mickey tries not to think about it or she’ll get nervous.

“Any of your brothers coming?” Ian asks, teeth chattering.

“Colin’s still on a run, but Iggy said he’d drop by tonight,” Mickey tells her. “Didn’t ask Sven, sorry.”

Ian shrugs. “It’s fine, didn’t really want him to come anyways. I was just trying to be nice.”

“He’ll probably be up Nik’s ass all day anyways,” Mandy points out, burrowing deeper into Mickey’s side for warmth.

Mickey snorts loudly. “You’re definitely not wrong,” she agrees, causing Ian to snicker next to her.

The Gallagher house envelopes them in warmth the moment they step inside, thankfully; the three of them tug off their coats off at the door and accept hugs from Fiona and Veronica before being told to get their asses in the kitchen to help.

Mandy drags her feet, but Ian and Mickey push her along into the kitchen, where various aromas are already lingering. 

Fiona puts Mickey on potato-peeling duty, and Mickey spends the better part of the morning flinging potato skins at Ian and Mandy whenever no one else is looking. As the kitchen continues to fill with more Gallaghers eagerly awaiting food, Mickey can’t help but feel like she belongs here, bracketed by Debbie and Mandy at the counter. Mickey never imagined in a million years that she would have a family like this, that she’d actually feel comfortable around this many people. 

Mickey guesses it’s just one of the many things that being with Ian has brought her that she never expected. 

 

 

Lunch goes off without a hitch, surprisingly; everyone eats on the long table Ian set up, drinking and having a great time. The twins are loud and Debbie and Carl fight over the last roll, but Kev and Vee seem happy and Fiona’s smile remains firmly on her face. Even Mandy and Lip manage to sit next to each other without Mandy stabbing him with a butter knife. Mickey sticks close to Ian’s side, leaning in close but resisting running her thumbs over the warm curve of Ian’s cheek. Mickey’s happy, really fucking happy, and she imagines it must show in her face because it seems like Ian can’t stop looking at her.

It’s not until _after_ lunch that shit hits the fan.

“I told you; I’m going out to find Frank!” Mickey hears Carl yell.

Mickey pauses clearing the table and looks up to see Carl and Fiona in a standoff in the middle of the kitchen “And I told _you_ , you’re staying here and spending time with your family!” Fiona fires back, dark eyes growing huge like they always do when she’s angry. 

“He _is_ family!” Carl insists, moving to grab his coat from the rack by the back door.

Fiona grabs Carl’s shoulder, spins him around. “Your family is everyone who’s in this room right now,” she insists, voice dropping low, “Not some fucking leech who takes and takes and never gives back.”

“Get off me,” Carl orders, shaking Fiona off, “You’re not my fucking mom, so stop acting like it!”

“Carl!” Lip yells, cutting in.

“What? It’s the truth!” Carl pulls on his coat without sparing another look to either Lip or Fiona. “Don’t wait up,” he calls cockily as he leaves through the back door, slamming it behind him.

Mickey looks away when she sees that Fiona’s in tears.

“Jesus Christ,” Mickey hears Ian murmur from where she’d been folding a tablecloth she’d been in the middle of holding. She’s looking at ceiling crossly, like she’s pissed off but not surprised.

“He’s just being an asshole,” Mickey hears Debbie tell Fiona quietly. “He doesn’t mean it.”

Mickey sighs and makes her way over to Ian. “You okay?” she asks. She knows that Ian put a lot of thought and preparation into this lunch and a lot of fucking time went into decorating the place. Mickey doesn’t want Ian to feel like Carl deciding to act like a shithead is her fault.

Ian shrugs. “Whatever,” she mutters. “Something was bound to happen at some point.” She shakes her head a little before fixing her gaze on Mickey. “Come on, let’s just go upstairs. I wanna give you your present.”

Mickey swallows, shoving her hands into the pocket of her sweatshirt and touching the box that holds Ian’s watch. “All right, let’s do this.”

Giving Mickey a strange look, Ian chuckles quietly and grabs the sleeve of Mickey’s sweatshirt and pulls her up the stairs so they can duck into Lip’s room.

Ian pulls the door shut behind them before nudging Mickey towards the bed to sit. She does, watching as Ian opens the drawer in the nightstand to pull out a small wrapped parcel.

Ian sits next to Mickey before shoving the package into Mickey’s hands. “Here. Just take it.”

“Jeez, Firecrotch; is it going to self-combust or something?” Mickey questions.

Ian sighs heavily. “Just open it, okay? I’m nervous.”

Mickey gives Ian a look before ripping the wrapping paper off. An ornate locket falls into Mickey’s palm, shaped like a heart with a carefully engraved swirl design on the front. Mickey stops breathing for a good few moments before she wedges her nail under the little jut and pops it open. Inside is a photo of Ian, perfectly ( _lovingly_ , shit) cut so it fits perfectly within the heart. It’s from earlier that fall; the wind had been blowing and her hair was all in her flushed face, but she still smiled like she was the happiest she’d ever been. Mickey holds the locket gently between her fingers and stares at it, unable to speak.

"It was my grandmother's," Ian explains after a long moment. "Not Frank's mom. Monica's. Apparently she came from money." Ian shrugs a shoulder. "I know the picture is stupid and corny, you don't have to wear it, I just, I don't know, Uncle Patrick stole your chain before and I thought this could be a replacement or--"

“It’s,” Mickey interrupts before she clears her throat and meets Ian’s eyes. “It’s beautiful.” 

‘Beautiful’ isn’t a word that Mickey that comes out of Mickey’s mouth often, even sarcastically. But on the list of things that Mickey’s seen that are worthy of the description, this locket is second on the list.

Ian’s expression melts from her formally tense expression into an easy smile, the one that takes its time making its way across Ian’s face. Mickey remembers falling in love with that smile what feels like a lifetime ago, when she could only see it through a pane of bulletproof glass.

There’s nothing between them now, though. No barriers or distance of any kind. So Mickey leans in, brushes her lips against Ian’s meaningfully for a moment before pulling back to look into her eyes. “Not as beautiful as you, but still,” Mickey shrugs, aiming for nonchalance.

Ian looks taken aback by the compliment and laughs. “I can’t believe you just said something like that. It’s a fucking Christmas miracle.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mickey mutters, “Shut up before I take it back.”

“My lips are sealed, baby,” Ian simpers.

“Ay, what’d I tell you about that shit,” Mickey warns.

“Not to call you the b-word unless I want a foot in my ass,” Ian reports solemnly, “Even though it makes you _so_ hot in bed and--”

Mickey cuts her off. “Okay, enough, jabberjaw.” She pulls the box out of her pocket and holds it out to Ian.

Ian falls quiet, taking the box from Mickey and popping it open. She gasps when she sees the watch, wasting no time in pulling it out. “Mickey, this is amazing!” she marvels, pressing it close to her face and studying it, “And expensive. Why would you get me something so expensive?!”

“I sold some Nazi shit to get it; really not a big deal,” Mickey insists.

Ian draws her attention back to Mickey. “Your dad’s?”

Mickey nods and moves to turn the watch over in Ian’s hands. “Got your name on it, too, so no one can swipe it.”

Running her thumb over her name, Ian sighs gently. “It’s perfect, Mick. Seriously. Thank you.”

Mickey’s body grows warm all over at the praise. “Merry Christmas, Ian,” she says, smile on her face. 

“Merry Christmas,” Ian echoes, just before she leans in to kiss Mickey stupid.

Mickey guesses that as far as Christmases go, this one is pretty badass.


End file.
